“If anything, I worry
that I’m not good enough in bed,” I said quietly.
Dallon stopped pacing.
He looked horrified at first and then his slow, sexy grin appeared. “Oh Miss
Clair, I can assure you that you are not bad in bed.”
I grinned stupidly and
for once didn’t look away.
Dallon pulled his
shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. Keeping his eyes on mine, he
unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his jeans. Apparently he’d gone commando
after the gym.
I slid forward in the
tub as he climbed in behind me, and soon I felt him pressing against my back.
“Your body reacts to
mine, and mine reacts to yours,” he whispered in my ear. He reached for my hand
and placed it on him. “Feel what you do to me.”
I leaned back against
his chest, tilted my head up to meet his waiting lips.
***
Dallon dried himself
off before helping me out of the bath, toweling me down with a grin on his
face. He helped me back into my robe and wrapped his arms around me from
behind, looking over my shoulder at our reflections in the mirror.
“We look good
together,” he said, smiling a slow, sexy smile.
I bit my lip shyly.
“There’s quite a height difference.”
He laughed and stood
to his full height, creating an even larger gap.
“My dad is six feet
but my mom’s side is all short,” I said by way of explanation.
“I love your height.”
I didn’t have to ask
why; I’d pieced that much together for myself.
Dallon put his hands
on my hips and spun me around to face him, gave me a tap on the nose. “I see
your mind worrying, and I’m telling you to stop. Live in the here and now.”
I sighed and leaned
into his chest, rubbing my cheek softly against the hair there. “It’s not just
that; I have to research the company for the interview.”
“You can do that after
dinner while I catch up on work.”
He plucked his
toothbrush out of its stand and began brushing his teeth. I watched as he
opened a cupboard under the sink and pulled out a brand new toothbrush, ripped
it out of its packaging and handed it to me. It was bright pink.
We stood together,
brushing our teeth and smiling at each other in the mirror, both of us
obviously enjoying the domestic act.
“Thank you for taking
the day off to spend with me.”
In response, he gave
me a playful swat on the butt before turning and walking into his room. I
swayed awkwardly on the spot before following him. There, I sprawled on the
leather lounger and watched as he pulled on a T-shirt and his pajama bottoms,
no socks. Dallon loved going without socks, something I couldn’t imagine. My
feet got cold just looking at his.
After pulling on his
shirt, he turned to face me, looking unfairly hot, hair disheveled and wet and
begging to be touched. “Are you going to move in here with me?”
I glanced down at my
bare legs.
Dallon chuckled.
“Okay, you can keep your own room. Whatever will make you feel safe.”
“I just like having my
own space,” I shrugged.
“I get it.” He cupped
my face with two hands and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Move in with me when
you’re ready.”
I returned to my room
to change into my own pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, and when I returned to the
living room, Dallon was on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on the table in front
of him. When he saw me, he raised an arm in an invitation to cuddle. I
instantly accepted, snuggling up and letting him cover us in a blanket.
“If you promise to
relax and not worry for a while, I’ll let you choose the movie.”
“How generous of you,”
I said, rolling my eyes.
“I’ve never lived with
anyone before. I thought it was rather big of me.”
He pushed a button on
the remote and the Netflix screen appeared. “A nice afternoon as a couple,” he
winked.
I smiled and closed my
eyes briefly, inhaling the scent that was Dallon: laundry, aftershave, a touch
of mint and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it was just
him.
“Let me guess, a
romantic comedy,” he said drily.
I snatched the remote
from him. “
Everyone
likes romantic comedies.”
I began scrolling
through the movies and frowned. Damn, I really did want to watch a rom com.
No
Strings Attached
. I paused at it and when I glanced at Dallon, he was
trying not to laugh, the corner of his lips twitching.
I hit the green button
on the remote.
“Shut up, Mr. King.”
I felt his chest
shaking beneath me as he chuckled silently.
The next day, I slept
in after a night of fondue and wine with Dallon, followed by the most wonderful
vanilla sex I’d ever had. We’d made love in his bed on the softest sheets—they
must have been 1,000,000 thread count—and then I’d fallen asleep in his arms
like a normal couple. I’d awoken to find a note on his pillow wishing me good
luck at the interview and a wad of cash. “For cab fare,” the note read.
I smiled and hugged
myself a little as I made my way into his bathroom to shower. Knowing he wasn’t
home, I plugged my iPhone into the dock and belted out the lyrics to my
favorite Indie songs as I showered. Singing had always been something that
relaxed me, along with my art. I was excited for my interview but also filled
with jittery nerves; this was my chance.
I arrived at the
office before 2 p.m., noting with private amusement how different it felt than
Dallon’s office. The furnishings were older, more casual. Pictures of oil rigs
and other machines I didn’t recognize covered the walls along with framed
magazine articles.
I pressed the bell at
reception and a man poked his head out of a nearby office and said, “I’ll call
Becky.”
Apparently they needed
an Administrative Assistant sooner than later.
Becky Platt retrieved
me from the waiting area with a large smile. She was beautiful with hints of a
Latin descent, her sleek hair falling halfway down her back.
“This isn’t a very
large office,” she told me as she led me to the boardroom, “so the candidate
will report to me. Ren Helding will be joining us to speed up the process.
Usually we would bring candidates back for a second interview with him, but
we’re hoping to have someone in by next week. As you can see, we’re in
desperate need.”
I laughed and she
smiled warmly, gestured me to sit down at the long table.
“Because we’re a small
company, there’s a lot of room for growth in this position. Why don’t you tell
me a bit about yourself.”
Ren Helding entered
then, a man in his late thirties or early forties with a friendly smile, and
blue eyes that crinkled in the corners. As I spoke, he nodded and smiled, and I
soon felt at ease.
I told them about my
degree and past work experience, which unfortunately didn’t include office
experience. Still, they seemed interested in my position at Cat and Fiddle Café
and Ren made a comment that he admired anyone willing to try new things and
work hard. After a series of grueling behavioral questions, Becky excused herself,
leaving Ren and I alone to get to know each other.
“So you’re an artist?”
Ren asked.
I smiled, aware of the
flush spreading on my cheeks. I did consider myself an artist, but being an
artist was something hard to prove, and years of logical discussions with my
parents had made me unsure.
“I like to sketch and
paint,” I said carefully.
Ren smiled and sat
back in his chair. “I’d like to see some of your work.”
I hesitated for a
moment, and then decided to go for it. “I have some pictures on my phone if you’re
interested.”
“By all means.” He sat
at attention again, pulling a pair of glasses out of a case.
I nervously pulled out
my phone and scrolled through my pictures to the abstract painting Dallon had
said he liked best.
Ren took the phone
from me and I watched as he studied it for a moment, using two fingers to zoom
in on the picture. After a moment, he looked at me over his glasses, nodded
appreciatively.
“You’re a talented
artist. Very creative.” He moved to scroll through the rest, his finger
pausing. “Do you mind?”
“Sure, go ahead. The
next three are sketches and a collage.”
“You have a good eye
for design.” He said, returning my phone. “Have you ever considered Graphic
Design?”
I smiled politely.
“I’ve never considered it, no. I’m not really good with computers.”
Ren smiled and his
eyes crinkled in the corners. “The programs aren’t too difficult to learn, and
once you do, you can be quite creative and make a living doing so. We’ve
actually been looking for someone with talent.”
Damn, I thought. Again
my non-practical degree was biting me in the ass.
He sat back and
crossed a leg over his knee. “One option would be for us to start you off in
reception while you take some classes, see how it goes. Perhaps we can groom
you to be our Graphic Designer.”
I had to consciously
hold my mouth shut. “Really? That would be great.”
He smiled and put his
hands up. “No pressure on the Graphic Design thing, I just thought it might be
an option for you. We would of course cover your Adobe classes if you decide to
go that route.”
“I would definitely be
interested,” I said, completely off guard that I might actually have gotten a
job after my first interview, and not only that, the company might actually pay
for me to advance my career.
Ren stood and gave me
his hand. “I’ll talk to Becky about an offer. You should hear from us by the
end of the week. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Clair.”
I smiled, my cheeks
heating slightly from the use of my formal name. Even that invoked memories of
Dallon King.
I left the interview
beyond excited. Graphic Design? How had I never considered it before? I hailed
a cab, paid with the money Dallon had given me when I arrived, and rushed
through the penthouse and into the study, where I found Dallon silhouetted
against the window, his hands deep in his suit pockets.
When he heard me enter
the room, he turned slowly to face me.
“I got the job!” I
said excitedly, rushing into the room and sitting on his desk. I noticed his
eyebrow rise as I did so, but I ignored him. “HR is going to send me an offer
by the end of this week.”
“Congratulations. We
should open a bottle of wine.”
Dallon put his hand
out and I shook it, somewhat confused by the formal gesture.
He walked past a bar
covered in crystal decanters and glasses, much like his office, and I noticed
that a half emptied glass of scotch sat on its surface. I followed him through
the living room and into the dining room, where he pulled a bottle of red out
of the wine rack.
“Look at the date,” he
said earnestly.
I took the bottle from
him and glanced up quickly. “The year I was born.”
He smiled. “I’ve been
saving it for a special occasion. I think this one is worthy.”
I grinned as he took
the bottle back from me, his eyes on mine. He looked delicious in his dark grey
suit, crisp shirt and tie. He deftly filled two glasses, took a taster sip
before handing me mine.
“To your new future,”
he said, holding his glass up in a toast.
“To my future,” I
agreed.
“Tell me about the
interview,” he said, putting an arm around my waist and leading me into the
living room, where he gestured for me to sit on the couch before turning on the
fire. The flames leapt and I sighed contentedly. Dallon unfolded the blanket on
the ottoman and put it over us as he sat down.
“The interview started
with Beck from HR—I can’t remember her last name—and Ren Helding. Then it was
just Ren and me. I showed him the pictures I took of my artwork, and he was
really impressed.”
“Of course he was.”
I exhaled happily. “I
think he thought I have talent. He asked if I’d ever considered Graphic Design
and said I could start in reception and they’d pay for me to take some
courses.”
“Courses?”
“Adobe courses. You
know, like Photoshop. I think Graphic Designers use another one… Illustrator.”
“I see.” Dallon took a
thoughtful sip of his wine, looking at the fire. “Is that something you’d be
interested in?”
“I think so. I mean,
it’s a way to make a living.” I thought for a moment. “I might be good at it.”
“I don’t doubt that,
Miss Clair.”
I frowned. “Why all
the formality?”
Dallon arched an
eyebrow questioningly.
“You’re all ‘Miss
Clair’ and shaking my hand.”
“I want you to know
I’m taking you seriously.”